Too Like the Lightning

by Travis Beaudoin

When the rain came, I’d sit on the back porch of my borrowed home and watch the world have a tantrum. It was the only time I didn’t feel alone.

And look. I’m not saying I’m proud of myself. I wasn’t trying to stare. Quite the opposite, in fact: I focused really, really hard on my book. But those black letters on the greying-white pages were no match for the young Apollo riding his chariot back and forth across the yard.

“So, anyway. I just like that phrase? Too like the lightning, that doth cease to be ere one can say, ‘It lightens!’ I think a lot of life is like that. Not literally as quick as a lightning flash, but things go by before we can appreciate them. It reminds us…it reminds me, anyhow…to be on the lookout. When the lightning strikes, notice it.”

“Don’t be mean to my friend. You’re in a rebuilding phase, sure, but he must see something in you. Just enjoy your time and follow the campsite rule.” “Leave him in better shape than I found him?” “That’s it.”

I couldn’t hold him forever, but for now he shared his dreams with me. He made me laugh. He kissed me like I was gorgeous. These actions were streaks of lightning. They could be marveled at, but not owned.

I always meant to do well. To jog. To write. To think happy thoughts. I always planned on being a good person. But having running shoes in your closet didn’t keep you fit and planning to be happy didn’t get you anywhere either. I caught a flash of Coley telling me I was a thinker, not a doer, and wiped it away. “Fucking philosopher,” I muttered to myself, and got dressed.